“It was I who wounded you，” said Aslan. “I am the only lion you met in all your journeyings. Do you know why I tore you？”
“No， sir.”
“The scratches on your back， tear for tear， throb for throb， blood for blood， were equal to the stripes laid on the back of your stepmother’s slave because of the drugged sleep you cast upon her. You needed to know what it felt like.”
“Yes， sir. Please.”
“Ask on， my dear，” said Aslan.
“Will any more harm come to her by what I did？” “Child，” said the Lion， “I am telling you your story， nothers. No one is told any story but their own.” Then he shook his head and spoke in a lighter voice：
“Be merry， little ones，” he said. “We shall meet soon again. But before that you will have another visitor.” Then in one bound he reached the top of the wall and vanished from their sight.
Strange to say， they felt no inclination to talk to one another about him after he had gone. They all moved slowly away to different parts of the quiet grass and there paced to and fro， each alone， thinking.